User blog:Daniel.whyte.568/The Crusader
The foest's cacophony surrounded the silver dragonborn hunched at the prow of the riverboat. Hot air seeped into his heavy raiment and clung to his scales. He ran a necklace of coins through his fingers, reciting a name in his native tongue with the clink of each coin. 'Ser Orno' called the ferryman. Ornoach grimaced at this over-familiar gesture, but said nothing. He was far from home and he needed the ferryman's boat and knowledge to traverse this forest. 'We grow close to your goal. See the warning in the silt ahead.' Ornoach turned and looked to the riverbank. A cordon of black arrows sat in the silt atop a dozen well-picked bones. The ferryman brought the boat to a stop. Without turning Ornoach ordered 'Take me closer sailor.' 'I dare not ser knight, I have seen the archer's work once before, I do not believe they will let me see it again.' Ornoach turned, his ire raised by this foolish half-elf. Before he began a righteous tirade he hesitated, seeing the ferryman again. His hands shook at the tiller, his firm features quavered slightly. Ornoach turned back towards the riverbank. 'Thank you sailor, you have served me admirably.' He inhaled deeply and felt his blood run cold as he invoked his draconic aspect. He exhaled and the humid air froze and ran cold before him. The river was coated in a sheet of ice that cracked and groaned. With one movement, he leapt from the boat, grabbed his pack and sword and landed on the ice with a thud. His makeshift raft drifted towards the riverbank, driven by his impact. 'I shall return here tomorrow, midday. I would ask you to return for me.' He grimaced as he cleared the arrow wall with a sweep of his falchion. 'Or for what is left of me.' The ferryman watched as the plate-clad scalykin trudged beyond the trees. --- Ornoach paused next to another nest of arrows. The forest had devoured most of the remains but the high templar of the Platinum Dragon had no doubts. A strike team of cultists, led by a dragonsoul. They had been stripped of anything useful. He grimaced. Just like the group that ambushed his templars off the coast of the Desolation. And they got the Templar of Sands before their retreat. 'Kadel' he murmured, touching a coin on his necklace. Alone, he could not best the archer. --- Twilight settled across the forest as Ornoach crested a hill. He had followed divine guidance this far and without it he would be lost. But now his guidance led him no further. He raised his voice to the wild. 'Wethrin!' He planted his sword in the ground. 'Wethrin! Do you remember me? We met at the Shiro. I thought I saved your life but now, I suspect you did not need saving.' The forest fell silent. 'Wethrin I-' A volley of arrows flew from the treetops from around the templar. He snatched his sword from the ground and spun, using his mail and blade to protect himself from the attack. He spoke a prayer and warded himself, seeking cover from the volley. He breaks the ground of my foes and shatters their defenses...'' ''Prayed Ornoach as he moved his hand over his weapon. It transformed, sheathed in platinum scales and radiant energy. He swung about and the trees around him split and fell. He swung again and more trees fell. As they fell, the arrows' trajectories grew predicatable and the fallen boughs brought respite from the assault. Ornoach leaned against his impromptu barricade and pulled a trio of arrows from his shoulder with a brief oath. The wounds quickly shut with a flicker of angelic light. 'Your arrows cannot best me within this roost Wethrin, you must parley.' Ornoach listened intently, trying to ignore his rapid breath and pounding skull. The arrows were laced with something. His faith should shield him against such cowardly tactics, but he felt himself weakening. 'Then I shall not best you with arrows.' Ornoach spun as the branches around him shifted and suddenly Wethrin was upon him. He held the Bow behind him and wielded a long, barbed spear. Ornoach raised his falchion to interpose it between himself and the tip of the spear. When the two met, his falchion shattered, its radiance diminished and scattered into twilight. The spear drove into the meat of his shoulder and he cried out as gods clashed within his form. The spear had been taken from the dragonsoul, he realised, and Tiamat's hatred was wracking his body with a fury meant for the anchor of Solonar. Wethrin pulled the spear from his shoulder and he collapsed. The elf nocked the bow and an arrow formed in his hand. 'You are unworthy prey, templar'. Wethrin spat. 'Both your master and his hated sister have tried now to best me, and both now have failed.' 'I did not come to be preyed on' Ornoach replied, clutching his wound. 'But to offer you a worthy hunt.' Wethrin said nothing, but his eyes betrayed his curiousity. '"My master's hated sister" has risen from her prison of Baator' Ornoach said. 'That is why she sent those cultists. She knows of you and she knows of the Bow.' he nodded to the artifact pointed between his eyes. Even from 10 paces he could feel the power radiating from it. 'She will send more of her warriors.' 'Then they shall feed the forest floor.' Wethrin replied, though his tone had softened. 'Then she shall burn the forest!' Ornoach shouted, despite himself, memories of his beloved home clouding his vision. 'She has already burned much.' He declared, meeting the elf's eyes. Wethrin licked his lips. 'Worthy pray you say?' Ornoach nodded. His power could not mend this wound. He would die here. Wethrin did not move or speak for what felt like an age to the dying knight. Then he knelt and touched Ornoach's wound with one end of his Bow. 'Stand then, messenger. You will lead me to my worthy prey.' His body and mind felt cleansed by the touch of the artifact, and his oath set to healing his wounds. Ornoach stood unsteadily and regarded Wethrin. 'We have an accord then?' Wethrin nodded with finality and pointed to the left of Ornoach. 'You'll find the canal back that way. Your ferryman will be back shortly. I shall follow the boat from the woods and we shall meet where my infamy does not precede me.' Ornoach turned. He could feel Wethrin's eyes on him. 'Of course, if this prey fails to impress me paladin, you shall be my next target.' 'You shall be impressed, bowman.' called out Ornoach as he began his march. 'If you are not devoured.' He finished to himself. He felt the weight of his necklace again and moved with renewed vigour. Category:Blog posts